Timeline: Somewhere in early S12 – Also, I can't stand the idea of angels not having their wings, so this AU ignores that detail.

Day 1

"The first part is easy. It's just light."

Luminous white light engulfed all.

"Okay, okay. That's good. But let's tone it down just a bit, shall we? There needs to be separation between day and night."

.oOo.

In the hush of the Men of Letters bunker, a bag of small, powdered donuts sat on the library table in front of Sam. He ignored them in favor of the half-finished smoothie in the tall glass next to his open newspaper. Ever since Mom had come back, and he had watched how she worked, Sam tried to make a point of reading a few articles in the paper each morning as well as searching for cases online. For better or worse, there was nothing grabbing his interest as a hunter this morning. His left hand toyed absently with the ends of his long, brown locks as green eyes scanned the article titles on the page.

Dean reached into the bag for his third donut. He sat opposite Sam at the table, quietly skimming through news headlines on his laptop. His lips worked silently, half-forming the words as he read. His jaw carried more than a weeks worth of beard growth; Sam knew once Dean decided to shave he would also cut his light brown hair back to the short, clean style he favored. Not only had Dean not groomed, but they hadn't worked in a couple weeks, not since Mom had said she needed her space and took off. Correlation may not be causation, but Sam had his suspicions. He also imagined Dean must be getting as antsy as he was without work.

"Even if we do find a case today, I don't know how quickly I want to get back out into that rain," Dean said, breaking the silence. Apparently it was nasty out there. Dean had parked his Impala in the garage instead of leaving it outside as he had taken to doing, just so he wouldn't have to get out in the weather when he got back from his donut and paper run. He had informed Sam that not only was the rain incredibly heavy, but it was also "really damn cold." Of course, that was to be expected halfway through February in the middle of Kansas.

"It's weird, though," Sam replied. "I could have sworn it wasn't supposed to rain today."

"Oh, so now you're a weather man?" Dean scoffed.

"No, it's just..." Sam tapped his fingertips on the newspaper as the thought. He didn't usually make it a habit to know the next day's weather, but... "Oh!" He excused himself to the kitchen. Over the past weeks, he had accumulated a good-sized pile of newspapers that he felt guilty throwing away, so he had set up a bin next to the trash can for recycling. The papers were the only thing that actually made it into the bin. Due to that fact, yesterday's paper was set neatly on top. Sam snatched it up and was thumbing through the pages as he walked back into the library where Dean was chomping into yet another donut, powder flaking down to the front of his shirt. Dean absently wiped it away. Sam slid the laptop aside and set the open page in front of Dean to point to the colorful layout of the five day weather forecast.

"Sunny, high of forty-four, zero percent chance of precipitation," Dean read aloud.

"And sunny for the rest of the week, look. It's like this rain came out of nowhere."

"Huh." Dean leaned back in his chair, eyes still on the page, and popped the remainder of the donut in his mouth, dusting his hands together.

Sam moved back to his seat where he had abandoned the day's paper. He flipped the pages until he found the more recent forecast. "Look at this," he said. Dean sat forward to read the page upside down. All he needed to see, though, were the small pictures of grey clouds spitting blue droplets that showed across the page where the previous day had suns.

"That's... kinda weird."

"Yeah," Sam replied. There was an article on the same page. "Get this: 'Local meteorologists cannot explain the sudden shift in weather but defend their previous forecasts, saying they do not not predict the weather, they can only make a conjecture.'"

"That's a fancy way to talk out of their asses," Dean said with a snort.

"Yeah, no kidding," Sam agreed. He blinked; did he blink? In that moment, Castiel was standing in the library behind Dean. Sam could swear he could hear the rustle of feathered wings any time the angel appeared. He had found himself tempted to ask Dean whether he heard it as well, but he was afraid what his brother's answer would be. Cas's sudden appearances rarely surprised him anymore, and based on Dean's lack of reaction when Sam shifted his gaze and offered a greeting, he wasn't surprised this time either.

"Hello, Sam," Cas replied to the greeting. "Dean." Dean turned slightly, just enough to glance back and up at Cas, and gave him an incline of his head.

"Cas."

"What's up?" Sam asked.

"Something is happening."

"You mean all this rain we're suddenly getting here?" Dean put in, giving the paper on the table before him a rustle.

"Not just here. Everywhere."

"Everywhere? Like..."

"Global."

Dean turned a shocked face to Sam, which Sam was sure he was mirroring. Global. His brow twitched. "How?"

"What's causing it?" Dean asked on top of Sam's question, now turning fully to face Cas.

"We're working on it in Heaven. The timing is... suspect, so there is speculation."

"Timing? What are you talking about?"

"The seventeenth day of the second month."

"Yeah," Sam's eyes flicked to the top of the paper in front of him to confirm. "Today's February seventeenth. But what-"

"An accusation of this magnitude must be thoroughly examined before anything official is put forth. I just felt you needed to be aware of the situation. I'll be in touch." With that, Cas was gone, and the brothers were left staring at each other across the table with confused expressions.

.oOo.

"Well if it isn't Sam and Dean Winchester. Come on in, boys." Missouri stepped back from her open door and ushered the brothers into the living area and out of the downpour threatening them as they huddled under the awning that covered her porch. The heavy rain had wet down their outer layers completely; they were saturated them from feet to knees due to splash coming up from their run from the Impala to her porch, but they had been swift enough to protect themselves from a soaking all the way down to their underclothes. Missouri could see the merits of layers. Their hair was dripping onto the shoulders of their jackets. Sam's long tresses were plastered to the sides of his face. Beads of rain pebbled down the scruff on Dean's face.

"Thanks," Dean murmured as he stepped in and moved far enough past the door to allow Sam in as well. Missouri addressed his back, stopping him in his tracks.

"You better stop what you're doin' with that jacket, boy," her soft, high voice had a stern note in it.

Dean, who had his hands gripped on the front of his leather jacket, ready to give it a firm shake to throw off the excess rain water, halted his movement before it happened. Instead, he carefully removed the jacket and turned to face Missouri and Sam, who was also removing his drenched coat. Missouri pointed to the coat rack next to the door. The brothers hung their jackets on the hooks, water dripping from them to the small rug positioned under the rack. She nodded in satisfaction.

"I s'ppose there's nothin' to be done for your pants," she said with a small sigh. "Come on, then." She brushed through the beaded curtain in a nearby doorway and led the way from the living area to her kitchen, keeping them away from the rugs on the hardwood floor. Sam and Dean left a trail of water from their shoes and jeans as they followed. Without looking back at them, Missouri gestured to the table in the breakfast nook as she walked to the coffee pot. "Make yourselves comfortable. Ah figured you was on your way, so I put some coffee on to knock the chill off your bones."

"Oh, no thank-"

"Spare me your false courtesies, Sam," Missouri interrupted, turning to face them. "You want this coffee, even if for some dumb reason you think it's polite to decline it. So shut your mouth, sit yourself down, and start dryin' out a little while I pour this."

Missouri spied a smirk from Dean at the gentle berating she gave his brother as he settled himself into one wooden chair at the small table. There were two towels neatly folded on the placemats before two of the chairs. He helped himself to the towel closest to him and pressed it to his face before speaking.

"You said you knew we were coming."

"Well, maybe not you exactly," Missouri busied herself with setting three filled coffee cups on a wooden tray. "But I knew I'd be having visitors today." She added a sugar bowl and a stirring spoon to the tray and carried it to the table. Sam had also grabbed a towel and was bent over in his seat, scuffling it through his long hair. Missouri pursed her lips in a rueful smile as she set the tray on the table between the brothers and took a seat for herself. Dean balled his towel, tossed it on the opposite end of the table with one hand, and reached for a steaming mug with the other.

"I thought you once said you couldn't pick facts out of thin air. How'd you know someone was coming?" His question made Sam stop drying his hair; he lifted slowly, pushing back his now-damp mane and peeking out of the towel to eye Missouri. Her reply did not disappoint.

"Dean Winchester, did you come all this way to ask for my help or to critique my abilities?"

Sam allowed Dean to stammer for a moment before he took over. Though quick to save each other physically, but they sure did seem to enjoy seeing each other squirm. He set his towel aside with the one Dean discarded as he answered for his brother. "You know we need your help."

"I know." Missouri replied matter-of-factly and gestured at a mug for Sam. He reached forward and thanked her with a tip of his head. She took her time with her own mug, stirring in some sugar with the tiny spoon. She hadn't bothered with spoons for the brothers or with setting cream on the tray; she knew how they took their coffee. The spoon clinked on the edge of her mug as she tapped to remove the last drops of coffee from it before setting it on the tray. She put the mug to her lips and breathed in the aroma before blowing gentle ripples across the surface of liquid only a few shades darker than her own skin and taking a sip. Color aside, she liked comparing herself to coffee: best when given a little sugar, necessary to some, and scalding at times. The thought gave her a small, personal smile.

Her silence made Dean itchy, "Well?"

"Don't you 'well' me, boy. Actin' like you can just walk in here and expect me to ask 'how high' when you say 'jump.'" Missouri set her mug down and fixed Dean's light green eyes with her own dark brown as she verbally lashed him. "You think that by me to diggin' in that head of yours, it would save us all the time we'd spend talkin' about what you need. I got news for you, Dean, I ain't pokin' around in there. You've seen things I don't want no parts of, and-" She cut off, closed her eyes, and turned her head away from Dean. By bringing it up, she had knocked on a door in Dean's mind that let the bad come crashing through. She took a slow, deep, steadying breath. When she opened her eyes and faced him again, her expression was apologetic. Her voice took on a note of sympathy. "And now you're thinking 'bout some of the worst of it. I'm sorry, honey. But I need you to control your thoughts."

With her last sentence, Missouri's hand made a tentative reach for Dean's, but she changed her mind, curled her fingers into a fist, and brought it back to wrap around the heat of her mug. He didn't want to be touched right now. Dean's face showed no outward signs that he had even been thinking about Hell, but his mind was awhirl as he tamped down the utter despair and grief at what he had experienced. Missouri knew he had had years to box up his feelings about it, but his memories were still vivid and probably always would be. She turned to Sam, from whom worry came in pings, allowing Dean to have a few moments to collect and contain his thoughts.

"Talk to me, darlin'."

"It's the rain," Sam stated. It was evident he was trying to be all-business, but Missouri could tell he was worried about his brother. Their concern for each other warmed her; together, each would always have someone to look out for the other.

"Go on," Missouri leaned back in her chair, nursing her coffee and using her body language to ease them down from the moment. It appeared to help.

"Well, we didn't think much of it -just that it was weird, the rain suddenly starting without warning- until our friend came to talk to us about it."

"Cas. Castiel. Your angel friend," Missouri found the name in Sam's mind as he said the word 'friend.' Sam nodded as though she has asked a question.

"Yeah; we met him a couple years after you helped us with the poltergeist in our old house." Sam's eyes dropped to the coffee cup in his hands as waves of both sadness and joy wafted off of him. He was thinking about his mother. About watching her ghost overpower and destroy the poltergeist. About her living self being back in their lives, thanks to a very unexpected turn of events. And about her walking out again.

"It must'a been nice to give her a hug," Missouri replied, prompting the happiness to overpower -though not completely quell- the sad. Sam looked back up at her with a small, appreciative smile. "Tell me more about the rain."

"Cas told us that it wasn't raining just here. It's everywhere."

"By 'everywhere' you mean... everywhere."

"The whole world," Dean joined the conversation. He had put a firm lid on his previous thoughts and was focused now on the task at hand. It was impressive to Missouri how emotions that strong could be hidden behind such a cool face. "The entire Earth is under a cover of storm clouds, and it's coming down all over."

"And just what kind of help do you think a psychic like me can give that an angel can't?"

"We don't have angel help right now. Cas took off," Dean said brusquely. Missouri raised an eyebrow as she examined the stab that accompanied his words. Dean uncomfortably tore his eyes away from hers and pushed his chair back to stand. He was well aware that she was reading beneath the outward facade, and he didn't like it.

"Restroom is around the corner," she pointed, letting Dean have the time away from her that he wanted. Dean excused himself, and Sam picked up the conversation again, unaware of the undertone of the exchange she had just had with his brother.

"Cas didn't tell us much. Just that the rain is global, that the angels had a theory, but he had to find out more. Then he was gone."

"Just like that," Missouri murmured into her coffee. She took another sip. "You have a lot of faith in this Castiel, don't you?"

"I do," Sam answered. "He's helped us out a lot over the years."

"Mm-hm. He's hurt you too."

"Well, I mean, yeah, but..." Sam floundered in his thoughts for a moment. He took another swig of his coffee, buying time, trying to put his feelings into words. "But he's family, and family sometimes hurts you, right?"

"Ain't that the God's-honest truth," Missouri replied.

A strange, fluttery-flapping whispered in her mind. Interestingly, though what she heard was internal, likely something only psychics and sensitives could hear, she could point to the exact spot in the kitchen behind her from where the "sound" had come. Sam's face and thoughts brightened with expectation at what -who- he saw beyond her shoulder.

"Cas."

"Hello, Sam."

Missouri didn't turn right away. She first strained to hear the thoughts of the angel behind her, but it was like trying to make sense of a Mandy Wilkinson painting. The whole thing was an array of colors, dominated by one, and that main color wasn't a constant.

"I thought you couldn't track us," Sam said. He moved a hand from his coffee cup and placed his palm against his ribs. "Aren't we warded against all angels? Did it fail?"

"It didn't fail," the deep, gravelly voice said. "Dean's car is parked out front. We're less than two hundred and fifty miles from the bunker; it was easy to find when I saw you were no longer there."

Missouri decided it was time to turn around in her seat. She set her mug on the table and twisted her body away from Sam to prop her forearm across the back of the chair. She took in the sight of Castiel for the first time. Medium-short, dark brown -almost black- hair sat in disarray on top of his head. He would be considered tall if one didn't have Sam and Dean around for comparison. Piercing blue eyes regarded her just as she regarded him. A haze of a five o'clock shadow covered his jaw. He was easy to look at, she decided, but mentally, he was quite impossible to understand.

"Missouri, this is Cas," Sam's voice came from the table behind her. "Cas, this is our friend, Missouri. She's-"

"A psychic," Castiel finished for him.

"Yeah."

Missouri rubbed at her chin with the knuckle of her first finger, letting a row of bangles fall down her forearm with a clink. "Well ain't you colorful?"

Castiel looked down at his suit and trenchcoat for a moment then back at Missouri, his eyes slightly squinted, "I am wearing only three colors. They are all considered very muted."

"Not your clothes, good-lookin'. Your mind." Missouri stood and took two steps closer to Castiel, examining him where he stood. Despite the deluge outside, he was dry. "Your thoughts ain't thoughts, not in the way a regular person's are. They're colors instead of words or images. I can't quite tell what you're like."

"I like bees," Castiel replied.

Missouri clicked her tongue behind her teeth. "Not exactly what I meant."

Dean chose that moment to round the corner of the doorway, coming back from the bathroom. The three people already in the room turned their attention to him. Missouri had to smile from the surge of admiration from Sam. He did so love his big brother, even if they wouldn't say the words out loud. What she didn't expect was what thundered through Dean. It didn't content itself to stay in his head; it rocketed through him from head to toe.

"Hey, Cas," Dean's outward demeanor didn't change at all as he made his way back to his chair. The boy should be an expert poker player.

"Hello, Dean."

Missouri looked back at Castiel and the feel of his colors as something about them shifted; that was the best way she could describe it to herself. A bright red expanded then dominated his thoughts. She looked at Sam, eyes wide. "They have no idea, do they?" She could have kicked herself the moment the question came out of her mouth. Sam cocked his head in confusion. Of course. Sam didn't know either.

"About what?" he asked.

"The angels," she took herself back to her seat and hurriedly covered her mistake with the first topic that came to mind. "They don't know what's causing the rain, do they?"

"Actually, we do," Castiel's comment brought Missouri's attention back to him. It had been remarkably easy to lead them away from her blunder. All business, these men. "At least, we think we do."

"You think?" Dean asked.

"Yes," Castiel moved closer to the table to continue the conversation. He chose to stand somewhat between Missouri and Dean rather than taking the fourth chair. "We think it's God."

"Chuck?" Sam inquired. "Has anybody heard from Him since He disappeared with The Darkness?"

"Heard from Him, no. But this appears to be the same work as before."

"Before?"

"The Great Flood," Castiel continued. "In the time of Noah, the Lord brought rain for forty days and forty nights to wash away the corruption His creations had wrought. Now the skies are, once again, pouring across the world."

"That can't be right," Missouri countered softly. The angel squinted at her objection, only serving to strengthen her resolve to call him out. "The rainbow. God promised He'd never flood the world again. 'This is the token of the covenant, which I have established between me and all flesh that is upon the earth.'" Surprise from Dean turned her head to the older Winchester. "You got something to say?"

Dean put his hands out in front of himself in a defensive pose. "I just didn't think you'd be quoting scripture at us."

"Just because I'm psychic don't mean I can't read the Bible, Dean."

"Well yeah, I mean, well," Dean stammered under her stern expression.

"You've never read it," Missouri realized. "In all of your years of research, in knowing that God is real. You've never taken the time to read His book."

"Technically, the Bible was written by man," Castiel interjected. "Therefore, full of inconsistencies and errors."

"And is the rainbow -is God's promise- one of these errors?"

"As of right now, we don't know," he admitted.

"Well, you better get to figuring it out if you're going to blame this rain on Him, don't you think?" Missouri couldn't hold back the edge of anger that sharpened her tone.

Sam cleared his throat and slid his chair back from the table to unfold his long legs and stand up. "Ah, we should probably get going," he said. The poor boy surely did not like to see confrontation between his friends. "Thanks for the coffee, Missouri."

"My door is open any time, Sam," Missouri replied warmly. Dean made to stand as well, but Missouri reached out to touch his hand. "A moment, please, Dean. If you would." She looked up at Sam, "Alone." Dean hesitated halfway into standing then lowered back into his chair. He nodded at the other two men to show he would be joining them at the door. Castiel favored Missouri with a polite dip of his head, which she returned, before he followed Sam out of the kitchen.

Missouri kept her fingertips on the back of Dean's hand and regarded his thoughts as he watched the others leave the room. When he turned his eyes to hers, she withdrew her touch and folded her hands in her lap. She let the silence stretch between them, let Dean attempt to organize his thoughts. Though the longer she sat, the faster his mind raced, trying to figure out what she wanted to talk about. There was a part of him that knew, and that part didn't want to talk about it.

Finally, he couldn't hold back, and his tone was slightly defensive, "What?"

"Why did you come to see me today?" Her voice was much softer than his.

Dean's brow drew down. "The rain?"

Missouri wondered if the silent duh at the end of that sentence could have been any louder. She chose to ignore it.

"Now what kind of sense does that make? All the messes you boys've been in, all the times you've been just a few hours down the road, times when I truly could have helped... not once have you darkened my doorway. But now you're here. So I ask again. Why?"

Dean's many thoughts were being narrowed down, but he was still fighting it. Missouri reached for his hand again, but he yanked both away and hid them in his lap. He tried to hide himself in a wall of defiance, but for a psychic, it was more of a chain link fence; she could see right through it.

"Remember when we first met?" she asked. "I told you that people don't come to me for the truth; they come for good news. You remember that?" He remembered, and his tiny nod confirmed it. "Same as anyone else, you don't want the truth. But I'm gonna give it to you. A little bit, anyway. Only as much as you need right now."

Dean swallowed hard, his adam's apple straining against his throat. Missouri eyed him, picking out just how much he would be willing to hear.

"A reaction like that, after -what?- eight years? That means it ain't going away, no matter how hard you try to push it under or deny it. And sooner or later, Dean, you're gonna have to address it. You understand me?"

Dean's face hardened, and his thoughts rebelled at her words. He was shutting down on her. "Is that all?" he asked gruffly.

"Until you're ready to talk again, yes." As soon as her sentence was spoken, Dean was on his feet. "I'll see you next time, Dean. You know where to find me."

He left the room on swift, heavy feet. There was a rustling of jackets being donned, and she heard the front door open, allowing the noise of the rain to pour into the house. She felt -or heard- the flutter of Castiel's wings in her head as he disappeared. She wondered briefly if the angel had been able to hear the private conversation she had requested of Dean. How keen was his hearing? The door closed, muting the sound of rain and the brothers' thoughts. She expected she would be seeing Dean again sooner than he realized.